Read Short Stories Online
Explore Moboreader's curated short story collection. Read best English fiction, mystery, romance, werewolf, and drama. Perfect for quick reads!
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His Unwanted Wife, The Hidden Genius Architect
When the mall ceiling collapsed, I was pinned under a massive concrete slab, my leg crushed. My husband of three years didn't even glance at me. He ran right past my bloody, outstretched hand to carry his mistress to safety. I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, covered in bruises, he wasn't there to comfort me. Instead, his chief of surgery walked in with a consent form my husband had already signed on my behalf. His mistress had faked acute kidney failure, and my husband ordered them to harvest my kidney to save her. "You owe her this." He snarled at me, fully believing her lie that I had pushed her into the rubble. I had almost died under the concrete calling his name, yet he wanted to strip me for parts just to appease her. Looking at his disgusted face and her smug smile, the three years of quiet, desperate love I had for this man completely turned to ash. I didn't cry or beg. I grabbed her and ripped open her hospital gown, exposing her flawless, unmarred stomach to the entire ward. Then, I dropped my three-carat wedding ring at his feet. "I want a divorce." This time, I was going to build an empire of my own, and I would make him regret ever throwing me away.
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Revenge Of The Forsaken Pregnant Wife
My marriage ended at a charity gala I organized. One moment, I was the pregnant, happy wife of tech mogul Gabe Sullivan; the next, a reporter' s phone screen announced to the world that he and his childhood sweetheart, Harper, were expecting a child. Across the room, I saw them together, his hand resting on her stomach. This wasn't just an affair; it was a public declaration that erased me and our unborn baby. To protect his company's billion-dollar IPO, Gabe, his mother, and even my own adoptive parents conspired against me. They moved Harper into our home, into my bed, treating her like royalty while I became a prisoner. They painted me as unstable, a threat to the family's image. They accused me of cheating and claimed my child wasn't his. The final command was unthinkable: terminate my pregnancy. They locked me in a room and scheduled the procedure, promising to drag me there if I refused. But they made a mistake. They gave me back my phone to keep me quiet. Feigning surrender, I made one last, desperate call to a number I had kept hidden for years-a number belonging to my biological father, Antony Dean, the head of a family so powerful, they could make my husband's world burn.
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The Unwanted Bride Becomes The City's Queen
I was the spare daughter of the Vitiello crime family, born solely to provide organs for my golden sister, Isabella. Four years ago, under the codename "Seven," I nursed Dante Moretti, the Don of Chicago, back to health in a safe house. I was the one who held him in the dark. But Isabella stole my name, my credit, and the man I loved. Now, Dante looked at me with nothing but cold disgust, believing her lies. When a neon sign crashed down on the street, Dante used his body to shield Isabella, leaving me to be crushed under twisted steel. While Isabella sat in a VIP suite crying over a scratch, I lay broken, listening to my parents discuss if my kidneys were still viable for harvest. The final straw came at their engagement gala. When Dante saw me wearing the lava stone bracelet I had worn in the safe house, he accused me of stealing it from Isabella. He ordered my father to punish me. I took fifty lashes to my back while Dante covered Isabella's eyes, protecting her from the ugly truth. That night, the love in my heart finally died. On the morning of their wedding, I handed Dante a gift box containing a cassette tape—the only proof that I was Seven. Then, I signed the papers disowning my family, threw my phone out the car window, and boarded a one-way flight to Sydney. By the time Dante listens to that tape and realizes he married a monster, I will be thousands of miles away, never to return.
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Too Late, Mr. Ex: I'm Free
Today is my fifth wedding anniversary. It's also the day my husband, Ethan, asked me for a divorce for the 38th time. He does this for Ilene, his childhood friend. The woman who crashed her car on our wedding day, leaving her unable to have children. Ever since, he's been repaying a debt of guilt, and I've been the price. For five years, I endured the cycle of divorce and remarriage. But this time was different. Ilene pushed me down a flight of stairs. Ethan found me bleeding and promised me justice. He swore he would make her pay. But days later, the police called. The security footage of the incident had been mysteriously erased. There was no evidence, no case. That night, Ilene had me kidnapped. As her men tore at my clothes in the back of a van, I managed to call Ethan. He rejected my call. I jumped from the moving van. And as I ran for my life, bleeding on the cold asphalt, I made a vow. This time, there would be no 39th remarriage. This time, I would disappear.
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From Jilted Bride To Mafia Empress
For seven years, I was the architect of my fiancé's criminal empire and the strategist behind his every move. I was Dante Gallo’s unofficial Consigliere, his partner in everything but name. Tomorrow, I was finally supposed to marry him and take my place as the queen to his throne. But on the eve of our wedding, a single text message sent by mistake detonated my life. It was a photo from Dante, showing a platinum wedding band on his hand. The message read: “Married this morning. She’s safe now.” My gaze fell to the engagement ring on my own finger. It was the identical band, just smaller. The engraved initials ‘D.I.’ didn’t stand for Dante and I. They stood for Dante and Isabella—his childhood sweetheart. My entire relationship was a lie; I was just a shield to protect his one true love. He dismissed my discovery as a "tantrum." Then, his new bride began taunting me, sending a picture of them tangled in bedsheets with the caption: "Loser." They expected me to break. They thought I would shatter. They were about to find out just how wrong they were. I forwarded the picture to Isabella’s fiancé, a man far more dangerous than Dante. "Your fiancée is in Suite 8808 at the Grand Hyatt," I told him. "I'll meet you downstairs. We're going to crash their party."
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Shattered Loyalty, A New Beginning Blooms
I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."
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The Underboss's Obsession: Stealing The Bride
Three days before the wedding. I was hiding in the dressing room, watching my fiancé caress the swollen belly of another woman. Luca, the man who had saved my life five years ago, was smiling at his mistress, Sofia. But the real knife to the heart wasn't the affair—it was the dress. The custom wedding gown he had "lovingly" ordered for me featured intricate silver embroidery along the hem. It didn't spell Elena. It read Sofia. He was planning to make me walk down the aisle wearing his mistress's name. Later that night, I found a video of him mocking me to his crew, calling me a "dead fish" and admitting he only wanted my family's Capo status. He planned to keep his "true love" on the side while I played the role of the oblivious, ornamental wife. He thought I was just a sheltered princess. He forgot that my bloodline was built on vengeance. I didn't cry. I didn't confront him. Instead, I scrubbed his scent off my skin and dialed a number everyone in Chicago feared. "The pact with the Cavallaro family," I asked my father, my voice cold as stone. "Is it still valid?" "Dante is the Underboss now," my father warned. "He is a butcher. He breaks men for sport." "Good," I replied. "I am done playing with boys." I secretly booked the Gold Ballroom across the hall from my original venue. Luca thought he was walking into a marriage on Saturday. He didn't know I was bringing a monster to the altar instead.
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My Mafia Husband's Betrayal, My Fury
My husband, Don Lorenzo Bianchi, the man who once took ninety-nine lashes for me, had just locked me in a guest room. I was four months pregnant with our child, the heir to his mafia empire. My crime was throwing a glass of wine on his mistress, a woman he had moved into our home. She cornered me in the garden, gloating that once the baby was born, he would give it to her to raise as her own. Later, she shoved me down the grand staircase, then threw herself down after me, screaming to my husband that I had tried to kill her. As I lay in a pool of my own blood, Lorenzo rushed past me, scooping her into his arms and carrying her away without a single backward glance. To force me to apologize, he had my parents brought to my hospital room and brutally whipped until they collapsed at his feet. He was no longer the man who had 999 crystals sewn into my wedding dress. He was a monster who believed every lie she told and punished me for her crimes. How could the man who swore to love me forever become this cruel stranger? But he didn't know the truth. Days before the fall, I had secretly terminated the pregnancy. I took the urn containing our child's ashes, filed for divorce, and disappeared from his world forever.
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Contract With The Devil: Love In Shackles
I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.
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Rejected By The Alpha, Carrying His Secret Heir
I woke up reborn, my hands frantically searching my stomach to confirm my unborn pup was still alive. Not long after, my fated mate, Alpha Julian, walked into the bedroom. He asked me to temporarily give up my Luna crown and perform a fake rejection. He wanted to give my title to Elara, a traitor's daughter, just to save her from being cast out of the pack. In my past life, I hadn't even had the chance to tell him I was pregnant. I cried, begged, and eventually compromised to help him. But when Elara later faked her death in the snow to frame me, Julian went completely mad with guilt. He locked himself in his study, and when I tried to comfort him, he violently shoved me away. My back slammed into the stone fireplace, and I bled out on the floor, losing our baby. He didn't even stay to help me. He ran into the mountains to search for Elara's remains, leaving me to rot in misery until I died. I could never understand how a man's pity for a liar could completely destroy a sacred mate bond and his own flesh and blood. This time, looking at his guilty face, I didn't shed a single tear. "I, Aria, reject you, Julian, as my mate." The ancient words left my lips without a tremor, and I turned to pack my bags.
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The Woman Who Came Back After Dying in the Deep Water
I am Jody Holt. The day my husband, Nate Holt, froze all my bank accounts, my mother was in the ICU waiting for surgery. He said only one thing. "Jody, either you sign the divorce papers, or your mother can figure it out herself." I thought he was only trying to pressure me, until his lawyer slid a second document in front of me. It was the prenuptial agreement between him and Sharon Jones, the woman who had come between us. The date they signed it was three months before this divorce agreement between us. I asked him, "Since when have you two been together?" He glanced at his watch as casually as if he were checking the time for an unimportant meeting. "We have been together since the day I married you." I signed my name on the divorce agreement. Then I died. At least, that was what all the newspapers in the city said.
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Seven‑Year Fate: The Alpha Begs My Return
According to the rules of the Obsidian Wolf Pack, if an Alpha invited an unbonded member of the opposite sex to the Blood Moon Banquet, it was equivalent to publicly releasing a courtship signal. So when my lover, Kenton Moran, reached out to Zessia Dixon, all the mocking eyes in the crowd turned to me. They expected me to react as I always had before—to barge in and cause a scene. But this time, I simply stood there, watching Kenton and Zessia dance passionately, and my chest ached slightly. Just an hour ago, the Moon Priestess had examined the dark poison marks spreading through my wolf veins and pronounced my fate. "Norya, the Eclipse has begun to invade your heart. You can live until the next full moon at most." For once, I didn't feel like fighting anymore.
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Too Late, Mr. Mafia: The Surgeon He Discarded
I was the wife of Dante Cavalli, the most ruthless mafia Don in the country. But today, his Underboss slid mandatory annulment papers across my hospital bed, ordering me to dissolve our marriage. In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged them not to abandon me. I spent the next thirty years locked in Dante's massive penthouse, waiting for a man who bathed the streets in blood but never gave me a single drop of warmth. My aristocratic mother-in-law stripped me of every cent, leaving me completely isolated. I foolishly threw away a brilliant surgical career to be a submissive, obedient mafia wife. In the end, Dante never came to see me, and I died entirely alone in that massive, empty bed. Until my last breath, my chest was suffocated by a lifetime of regrets. I couldn't understand why I had sacrificed my freedom and my scalpels for a man who would only feel a twisted guilt decades after I was already a cold corpse. Opening my eyes again, Fate had dragged me back to the exact day my nightmare truly began. Matteo stood at the foot of my bed, clearly expecting my usual pathetic tears. "Take your time to think about it." This time, I didn't cry or beg for my life. I just picked up the fountain pen, signed my name, and walked out to reclaim the scalpel I had abandoned.
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After Six Years Of Lies, Both My Wolf And I Awakened
I am Lillian Lawson. The night before my succession ceremony, I caught Erick Lawson, my mate, in bed with Misha Acosta, the priestess of Silverbeam Pack. It was also that night that I learned the prenatal tonic I had drunk six years ago was, in fact, a Stillbirth Draught that killed my baby. Erick had handed it to me himself. My real child had long since died in my womb. After I delivered the dead baby while unconscious, Erick and Misha took the baby's body away, shoved their bastard, Noah Lawson, into my arms, and murdered my father together. So I had spent six years raising my enemies' child. And now, they were trying to usurp my position as leader! At the succession ceremony, Misha held Noah in front of the entire pack, sobbing that she was his real mother. Erick stood before everyone and accused me of having no wolf, being unable to bear children, and abusing Noah for years. Everyone demanded I give up my position. But I simply looked at Erick, whose face showed a look of smug satisfaction, and curled my lips. "Erick, do you think you're unstoppable now?"
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Reclaiming My Life From Their Betrayal
I was Aliana Donovan, a resident physician, finally reunited with the wealthy family I' d been lost from as a child. I had loving parents and a handsome, successful fiancé. I was safe. I was loved. It was a perfect, fragile lie. The lie shattered on a Tuesday when I discovered my fiancé, Ivan, wasn't at a board meeting but at a sprawling mansion with Kiera Reese, the woman I was told had a mental breakdown five years ago after trying to frame me. She wasn' t disgraced; she was radiant, holding a little boy, Leo, who giggled in Ivan' s arms. I overheard their conversation: Leo was their son, and I was merely a "placeholder," a means to an end until Ivan no longer needed my family's connections. My parents, the Donovans, were in on it, funding Kiera' s lavish life and their secret family. My entire reality-the loving parents, the devoted fiancé, the security I thought I' d found-was a carefully constructed stage, and I was the fool playing the lead role. The casual lie Ivan texted me, "Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you. See you at home," while he stood beside his real family, was the final blow. They thought I was pathetic. They thought I was a fool. They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
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Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the Alpha King
I was an Omega born into a family of fierce werewolf warriors. My fated mate, Vance, was a high-ranking fighter who always despised my weakness. In my dreams, I saw our future. Our carriage was attacked by bloodthirsty Rogues. Vance shifted and ran ahead to fight, leaving me behind in the fragile wooden box. The violent crash over the rocky earth caused me to lose our unborn child in the freezing winter snow. Instead of comforting me, Vance used our sacred Mind-Link to pour his disgust directly into my brain, blaming me for being too fragile to protect our pup. He publicly complained about my weak scent and humiliated me in front of the entire pack, making it clear he only truly wanted my strong Warrior sister, Lyra. When I demanded a severance of our bond, he agreed with sheer relief. I was left to die a slow, miserable death in a forgotten, drafty corner of the pack. As I bled out in the cold, I felt nothing but absolute despair. Why did my endless submission and quiet obedience only earn me disgust and a pathetic end? Three times the Moon Goddess sent me that vision. Three times I woke with the taste of blood in my mouth. The third time, I knew it was not a nightmare—it was a warning. And when I opened my eyes, I was back in the Great Hall on the exact day my nightmare began. Vance was looking at me with pure resignation, arrogantly announcing to the crowd that he supposed an Omega was good enough for breeding, and he would accept me as his consolation prize. This time, I didn't lower my head. "I, Elara, reject you, Vance, as my mate." I turned my back on him and packed my bags for the Royal City. I was going to enter the deadly Luna Selection. But there was one detail in the vision I had never told a soul. In every replay of that nightmare, when the dream showed me a throne room soaked in blood, a pair of golden eyes always found me through the fog. And a voice—low, resonant, certain—spoke three words that followed me into waking: "There you are." I didn't know what they meant. I only knew that when I finally reached the Royal City, the King who ruled with blood and silver would already know my name—even if I had never spoken it to him.
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Those Seven Years Between Me and Him: From Lovers to Strangers
I am Elianna Lambert. The day I received a tearful call from my best friend, Regina Haynes, telling me that her ex-husband had abused her, my boyfriend, Kristian Reynolds, and I flew back to the country overnight and rescued her. To help Regina get even, I set aside all business interests and took every order from her ex-husband's company. Kristian also made it clear that he would have him blacklisted across the entire industry. The day her ex-husband went bankrupt, Regina hugged me, laughing and crying at the same time. "You two cannot fight, okay? If you break up, who am I supposed to go with?" She said jokingly. Kristian pulled me out of her arms. "Shut up. There is no way I am ever breaking up with Elianna." Later, I had her move into my apartment to live with Kristian and me so that I could look after her; I even arranged for her to work at my company, and encouraged her to find a new boyfriend and start a new life. Every time Kristian would wrap his arms around me and ask, seemingly jealous, "Who is the one you really love, anyway?" Everything was fine until I left on a three-month business trip and secured a major international deal worth hundreds of millions of dollars. When I finally returned to the country, I was eager to surprise Kristian. He drove to pick me up. Out of habit, I opened the passenger-side door and was about to get in when my fingers brushed against something wedged between the seat cushions. It was a used condom.
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His Ultimatum, Her Dying Heartbreak
My family and fiancé begged me to donate my last remaining kidney to my twin sister, Kyleigh. They didn't know I was already dying. My fiancé, Axel, gave me an ultimatum. "Donate the kidney, or I'll break our engagement and marry Kyleigh. It's her dying wish." I agreed, only for them to frame me for plagiarism with my own thesis, forcing me to confess on camera. They never knew I was the one who secretly saved our father with my other kidney five years ago-a sacrifice Kyleigh had stolen all the credit for. As they wheeled me into the operating room, they celebrated with Kyleigh, promising her a future built on my death. I was already a ghost to them. But I died on the table. The surgeon, seeing the old surgical scar and the poison riddling my body, walked out to face them. "This wasn't a donation," she announced, her voice cold as steel. "This was murder."
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The Jilted Bride Marries The Ruthless Capo
I was three days away from marrying the Underboss of the Fazio crime family when I unlocked his burner phone. The screen glowed toxic bright in the dark next to my sleeping fiancé. A message from a contact saved as 'Little Trouble' read: "She is just a statue, Dante. Come back to bed." Attached was a photo of a woman lying in the sheets of his private office, wearing his shirt. My heart didn't break; it simply stopped. For eight years, I believed Dante was the hero who pulled me from a burning opera house. I played the perfect, loyal Mafia Princess for him. But heroes don't give their mistresses rare pink diamonds while giving their fiancées cubic zirconia replicas. He didn't just cheat. He humiliated me. He defended his mistress over his own soldiers in public. He even abandoned me on the side of the road on my birthday because she faked a pregnancy emergency. He thought I was weak. He thought I would accept the fake ring and the disrespect because I was just a political pawn. He was wrong. I didn't cry. Tears are for women who have options. I had a strategy. I walked into the bathroom and dialed a number I hadn't dared to call in a decade. "Speak," a voice like gravel growled on the other end. Lorenzo Moretti. The Capo of the rival family. The man my father called the Devil. "The wedding is off," I whispered, staring at my reflection. "I want an alliance with you, Enzo. And I want the Fazio family burned to the ground."
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Burned Memories, A Wife's Fiery Comeback
I was the architect of my husband's billion-dollar tech empire, but he repaid me by bringing his mistress to our son's funeral-the very woman whose negligence killed him. To protect her, he had me committed, tortured, and then burned every last memory of our son, systematically erasing our past. Then I discovered he'd secretly divorced me years ago, so I faked my own death and gave the source code to his rival, ready to watch his world burn to the ground.
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